Iphigenia's Tears
by ElvenDestiny
Summary: The seas are becalmed and the Greek fleet cannot sail for Troy, for Agamemnon has angered the goddess Artemis. He must sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia, so he cruelly deceives her into thinking she is to marry Achilles. But can Achilles save her?
1. Come What May

**Iphigenia's Tears**

By ElveNDestiNy

May 22, 2004

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended on _The Iliad, _or _Troy_, the movie. References used: _The Trojan War_, by Bernard Evslin, _The Iliad_, by Homer, _Quintus Smyrnaeus: The Fall of Troy,_ by Smyrnaeus Quintus, translated by A.S. Way, _Greek Lyric IV: Bacchylides, Corinna, and Others_, edited by David A. Campbell, _Mythographi Graeci, Vol. I, by_ Apollodorus, edited by Robin Wagner, and _Iphigenia at Aulis_, by Euripides.

Author's Notes: Although this was first written when I was in 8th grade/12 years old, it's undergone several edits. I've changed it significantly by adopting the first person narrative, so it's quite different from the story I first posteda while ago and completely took off.

Pronunciation Guide (taken from the Encylopedia Mythica at ):

Achilles: uh-KIL-lees

Agamemnon: ag-uh-MEM-nahn

Calchas: KAL-kuhs

Clytemnestra: kly-tem-NES-trah

Iphigenia: if-uh-juh-ny'-uh

Menelaus: men-uh-LAY-uhs

A note to Alkippe: I don't know where you got your information, but as I'm no master of Greek pronunciation, I checked several sources and simply chose the most commonly used/accepted pronunciations. If you have more suggestions, please provide some sort of proof or documentation of your information. Also, notice that I'm using the Romanized names, not the original Greek ones. Similarily, Hercules is not pronounced Herakles.

**Part I: Come What May**

"_Iphigenia!" Electra cried, catching my hands in hers. "Have you heard yet? Oh, what wonderful news for you! Father has sent a message that you are to be married...to Achilles!" _

_Even now, years later, I can still remember the exact time of day, the clothes I was wearing, and even what I had been doing when my sister brought the news to me. For it was with those simple words that my entire life changed._

- o – o – o – o – o -

Agamemnon, King of Mycenae, had waited so many years for his glory, and now that Troy was within his grasp, the wind would not blow. Why? Why was he cursed at this moment, of all moments? A thousand ships lay waiting in the harbor at Aulis, but without a fair wind for Troy, all was for naught.

The more delayed they were, the more the Greeks talked of returning home. They cared not for glory, nor for Helen—why should they risk spending long years away from their family, risk death from the Trojans, who were well-known for their might in arms?

He was the leader of the host, and he _would _have his conquest of Troy. Why, why were the seas becalmed now, of all times? Torn with mingled frustration and dejection, Agamemnon decided he would consult Calchas the seer.

"It is your own fault, Agamemnon, that has caused this. While waiting for a favorable wind, you went out hunting and shot one of Artemis' favorite hinds. Worse yet, you boasted of your kill, invoking the Goddess of the Moon's own name to do so," the seer pronounced gravely.

Agamemnon remembered now. Yes, he had done so in the last week, bringing down a beautiful hind that had led them quite a chase through the woods. Curse the Fates! Why must his every action anger the gods?

"Only _you_ can put this to rights," the seer continued. As with most that possessed a second sight, he was blind. The milky blue-white orbs turned to Agamemnon as if they could still see, and he had to fight off a shudder.

"Tell me how I may appease the goddess," Agamemnon demanded, noting that the only other two men in the room, Menelaus and Odysseus, were silent.

"Only by the sacrifice of your daughter, Iphigenia, will Artemis allow the fleet to sail to Troy." As he listened to the seer's words, Agamemnon wished he could wring Calchas' skinny neck, yet was afraid of the gods' further displeasure.

It did not occur to him to question the words of the seer. To do so would be to challenge the gods themselves, and he knew better than to do that. In his mind's eye, Agamemnon remembered the slender, waif-like girl that his wife, Clytemnestra, had borne him. He knew what was expected of him, but he would do so with a heavy heart.

"Very well, then. I must restore the honor of Artemis. One thousand ships lie in wait at the harbor, and still no wind will blow. If the Huntress will demand this price of me, I will pay it for the sake of our fleet."

The other two men watched him silently, offering no opinion. He turned to them then, not meeting their eyes. "Menelaus my brother, and Odysseus my friend, I request that you speak to this of no one. I will take care of this by myself."

When the others were gone, the seer spoke more to Agamemnon. "You cannot simply send for Iphigenia. This is a war camp, and no decent place for a young maiden to be wandering about. Her mother Clytemnestra will question your orders and perhaps seek a way to keep Iphigenia from leaving Mycenae.

Agamemnon knew this well enough. He regarded Calchas with irritation. Not only had the blind seer brought ill news, he was seeking to meddle in affairs not his own.

"Out with you, Calchas," he ordered. "I have no further need for you."

The seer seemed to be staring straight at him and he clenched his hands at his sides. It would not do to further offend the gods by disrespecting their messenger. In a more moderate tone, he continued. "Artemis will be satisfied, I swear on my honor, but it will be done by my own plans. I give you thanks for your aid in this matter."

With a small nod of his head, Calchas left. Agamemnon sat down to think. How old was Iphigenia? Surely about marriageable age, although she was as slim as a willow and looked no less delicate. Perhaps...

He searched about for his writing materials as he thought of what he would write to his wife. It was a cruel ruse, but the heart of Agamemnon was blinded with visions of his future glory. No one, not his daughter, not even the gods, would keep him from this one purpose. To see Troy fall.

- o – o – o – o – o -

Clytemnestra received the messenger from her husband with a little trepidation. The kingdom of Mycenae seemed empty with the king and most of the men gone, so she welcomed any news. However, the fact that Agamemnon was writing to her in the first place told her that he would have ill news. By all rights, the fleet should be halfway to Troy by now, not still at Aulis.

She broke the seal and read the letter carefully. The only sound she uttered was a soft gasp as she scanned the first few lines. The queen of Mycenae quickly composed herself, however, her serene face betraying none of her emotions.

"Go quickly," she urged one of her daughters. "Find Iphigenia and tell her to come here at once. She is to be married to Achilles."

The sisters stared at each other in shock. "Achilles?" one whispered in surprise. Only Electra stirred to their mother's orders and left to bring Iphigenia.

- o – o – o – o – o -

I stared at my sister in shock. "What? Marriage to Achilles?

"Yes, Achilles!"

"Surely you must have misunderstood what you heard, Electra," I said in confusion.

"Iphigenia, it is all true," Electra said, not with a little envy. I looked at her still without realization, too surprised to sort out my whirling thoughts. "Come on now, Mother is waiting for us."

Her mention of our mother seemed somehow to make the news more real, and I followed her numbly, bewildered. Why would the great Achilles choose me, when he could have any Greek maiden to wed? I was thin and pale-skinned, with great dark eyes and dark hair, but I knew that I was no match in beauty for any of my sisters. Electra always claimed that Father loved me best, but it was only because I was the most daring.

In no time at all we had reached the chamber, but as I paused outside, I felt a thrill of excitement in my heart. What girl had not dreamed of marriage to Achilles, after all? His fame had spread until every Greek boy in the marketplace wished to be like him, until old warriors spoke his name with hope for the future. All knew his name.

Electra ushered me in and I dropped to sit. "Mother?"

Clytemnestra looked at me with fondness, I think, but she has never understood me. I was more like our father, whereas all my sisters had the lively brightness of our mother. Against them, I had nothing but perhaps an odd sort of resolve, more determination than passion, more wit than beauty, and these things are not prized in daughters.

"Today a messenger from your father brought a letter to me, summoning us to Aulis. Your sister would have told you about Achilles."

I was no fool, even as overwhelmed as I felt. "Achilles will accompany the fleet to Troy," I said. "Why would he wish to marry on the eve of war, when it has been foretold that the war will be long? He will not see me for ten years, perhaps more."

"Innocent one," she smiled at me, with a little affection but no great love. I had grown so used to it that it did not hurt me. Nor did I blame her for her seeming inability to love me, because she cared for me as much as she was able, I feel. It is neither of our faults that I am not what she expected, and she is not the kind of mother than can love all equally. "Achilles, like any man facing war and possible death, will want an heir. He has chosen you, Iphigenia, for that honor. Make ready with your things; we will leave for Aulis early next morning."

It was a dismissal, and I rose and slipped out of the room quietly, finding my way back to my own chambers quickly. It was an honor, I knew, but I could not help but wonder what life would be like for me now. Would Achilles be kind to her? To hope for love might seem foolish, but some dreams cannot be denied.

I have long known that I would soon be married, spending hours thinking of all the men that might be chosen for me. We had little power over our destinies, truly, and as daughters of the King of Mycenae, I had long since accepted that I would have no say.

Yet Achilles...if there was any one that I might have dreamed of to wed, it could have been him. They say he is fair, and fair of judgment as well, although others disagree, citing his famous temper. Who can separate the truth from the rumors? But in every legend there is some grain of truth, I know, although how Achilles the man might differ from the stories of Achilles the warrior, no one could tell me.

I had not imagined it this way, on the eve of war, with my soon-to-be husband leaving for ten years. Ten years! It is more than half of my lifetime...I am only ten and seven years, now. Perhaps there would be a child to love...

I could not think of these things. The possibilities were endless, and each painted a future that seemed strange to her. I smiled a little bitterly; any of my sisters would have loved the chance to be the honored wife of such a famed man, and I, myself, had dreamed of Achilles. Yet some part of me was fearful.

There was a temple of Artemis not so far away, and I slipped out of the palace easily enough. The guards had long been familiar with my solitary excursions; even as a child I rode off alone. Clytemnestra had been furious the first time I went missing and worried her half to death, but Father had just laughed. Sometimes I wonder if I should not have been a boy. Men have such power. I suppose the fate of women is not so awful, but there has always been a fire in me that wishes for more than we are allotted.

As I knelt on the smooth floor, I smiled a little self-consciously, although there was no priestess of Artemis around to see. After all, for a girl soon to become a wife, I should be offering prayers to Aphrodite, and yet I chose to honor Artemis, the eternal virgin, with my offerings.

If not love, at least affection between us, I prayed. Give me strength to face what life brings me, and the courage to do so with pride and dignity. Let me be content with my destiny, come what may in this marriage to Achilles.

The night was growing colder and I made my way back to the palace slowly, tracing out the constellations in the sky. The light of the stars seemed distant and cold, and I had lost my childish dreams in them.

No one had noticed my absence, for which I was thankful. I lay on my bed for a long time, thinking, a little wistful but mostly uncertain. If even half the rumors about Achilles were true, I knew that I could find in myself love for him. Yet if there is one truth running through all the tales of him, it is that he is a warrior born, and those that are warriors have distant hearts.

I fell asleep before long, worn out with my thoughts. There was only a vague sense of foreboding in my heart that troubled me, telling me that something was wrong. I dreamed of golden hair and beautiful blue eyes, but the expression in them was distant with concentration on battle, and when I woke the next morning, I discovered tears on my cheeks.

- o – o – o – o – o -

Please review! There are a total of three parts to this story, and the next part will be up tomorrow. For those interested in the story of Oenone, visit "The Death of Paris." It's complete!

**Thanks - E.D.**


	2. A Father's Deceptions

**Iphigenia's Tears**

By ElveNDestiNy

May 22, 2004

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended on _The Iliad, Troy_, the movie, _Iphigenia at Aulis, _or other works about the Trojan War. Credit to the references used is given in Part I.

Notes: This is a repost, since I wrote the story into different points of view. Although it may be a bit more confusing to read, it was an opportunity to edit my very juvenile writing (I was around 12 when I wrote this). I ended up not making that many changes anyhow. Part II is through Agamemnon's eyes.

**Part II: My Father's Deceptions**

Out of all of my daughters, I love Iphigenia the most. Her quiet beauty could not compare with, say, Electra's dark brilliance, but her daring wit charmed me and belied her reserved appearance. She wasn't afraid of me, unlike her sisters, and so I felt more challenged to earn her affection. I bitterly wondered why, out of all my daughters, did Artemis choose Iphigenia? Of course, the goddess knew that she was the only one who was worth aught to me.

Even as I sent for Clytemnestra and our daughter to come to Aulis, I began to wonder if there was no other way. Not only was I heartsore at the thought of losing that bold humor, I was haunted by my conscience. I had lied to my dear girl, given her false hope that she would be married—to Achilles, no less—when the truth was, I was waiting for her to come to be sacrificed, not married, at the altar.

It reflected on my men, and I feared that they muttered darkly about me. It seemed I could not give orders without being branded impulsive, or suggest a strategy without offending the other kings.

I knew Menelaus was against me. He held covert meetings with Odysseus in which they conferred gods-knows-what, after I ordered them out of the tent. I knew full well that he thought I was too weak to stand on my word. My brother thinks that he knows my flaws well, and I curse the fact that I told him many times of Iphigenia's wit, despite that women and children were rarely mentioned in talk amongst men. Now he uses his knowledge of my dear love for Iphigenia in scorning me.

If I went back on my oath to sacrifice Iphigenia, a fair wind for Troy would never blow, and Menelaus would never get Helen back. It is simple enough for me to read the dark thoughts in Menelaus' eyes. He is a hotheaded fool, and I can feel his anger: Paris, unpunished for his wrongs? Never!

He would sacrifice Iphigenia with or without my support, I know. Where Helen is concerned, Menelaus is the blindest of men, tied to his lust and need for possession. Helen _had_ to be returned to him, and Paris must be made to pay. I am not so foolish; this is a war not fought over a woman and a princeling, but an opportunity to put the Trojans in their place—underneath the Greeks, whom they have taunted so long. Now let them live up to their foolish talk, and see who will be the victor.

Menelaus believes that he can outwit me by idling around my tent at night, no doubt hoping to hear somewhat of my decisions. I made note of it, despising him for his covert spying and fool's talk.

But I was still haunted, and a few days after the seer's prophecy, I could stand it no longer. Late at night, I summoned my most trusted slave.

"I have long had you by my side, and I trust you enough for my confidences. A few days ago the seer Calchas prophesied that I must sacrifice my daughter Iphigenia in order to appease the wrath of Artemis and receive a fair wind. I agreed to this and sent a messenger to Clytemnestra and urged her to bring Iphigenia here. They believe that Iphigenia is to marry Achilles, although it is purely a ruse and Achilles himself knows nothing about it, or anything of my daughter." I waited, watching him. The servant was perceptive and knew already what lay so heavily on my mind.

"You do not wish to sacrifice her," he said. Then he dared speak no more, but I spoke it for him.

"Yes. Only Menelaus and Odysseus, other than myself, know of Calchas' auguries. I want you to go to Mycenae and bid my wife and daughter to turn back. They must be nearly here," I said, caring not that a hint of desperation laced my voice. I could hear the weakness in myself and despised myself for it, but what else could I do? I was trapped, the army and the Trojan war on one side, my beloved's trust and my child on the other.

I gestured for him to hold out his hand and drew my ring off my own, pressing it into his palm. "Take this ring, so that they will know it is my orders."

"I will go with all the swiftness of Hermes, god of messengers," the slave promised.

With his departure I sank back, half-drowsing, for I was finally at peace with myself once my decision was made. Save Iphigenia, and perhaps it will not spell disaster, for if I have angered Artemis, I can surely make amends in other ways. A fair wind for Troy? Not at the cost of my daughter's life, though I will bargain something else to appease the gods.

I was startled awake not much later by my slave, returned at the foot of my brother. "He had no right!" the servant protested, trying to struggle free, for his hands were bound behind him. "Master, he has taken both the ring and the letter from me. He was waiting in secrecy outside of your tent and took me by surprise."

"Quiet, slave!" Menelaus hissed, face veiled by the dark of the night. To me he spoke with crushing scorn. "I have heard your words and am disgusted by the weakness of your will. Brother of mine, I have here your message to Clytemnestra, and your ring as well!"

My heart sank, for I knew well what this meant. Yet I tried to summon my anger for this confrontation, for I would follow through with my decision now I have made it.

"What right have you to lay hands on my messenger or take his things?"

"What right have you to send this letter?" Menelaus said, truly irate. "What kind of leader have we chosen, that would do treason?"

"Give me the letter!" I demanded. The proof lay in my writing, but if only I could throw it into the fire first…

"I will show it to all the other chiefs, and you will be shamed in front of us all. What king are you, to anger the gods and then refuse to do their will?"

"How can you spy on your own brother, Menelaus?" I countered, but inside I was cursing myself. I was overconfident that I would stop my brother's treacherous spying; I should have known better. I made my voice harsh, but knew that I was losing ground quickly.

"Thank the gods that I have! You were our leader, Agamemnon, not just because you brought a hundred ships, but for you character! I trusted you to command the fleet, knowing that you would bring down the walls of Troy, knowing that Paris will be shamed and that Helen will be returned to me. Do you remember, Agamemnon, how humble you seemed when we offered up the honor to you, to let you be the leader of the host?"

I looked away, guilt afresh in my heart. Menelaus pushed on relentlessly, gods curse him. "Then we came to Aulis, and all that was for naught. You could do nothing, Agamemnon, to make a fair wind blow. Days, then weeks, passed, and finally we sought the aid of a seer. And now? Now you would return to Mycenae like a defeated dog, a dog with its tail between its legs, because you refuse to right the wrong you did to Artemis?"

"How dare you!" I was truly incensed for the first time in the heated argument. Menelaus, who could not even keep his wife from the princeling's bed, accusing me of cowardliness?

"How dare I? Dare I what, to speak the truth? How the Trojan King Priam would laugh, to know that we had such a weakling for a leader. A king that will not even sacrifice his daughter in order to have a fair wind blow, to launch a thousand ships! Why have all these men come, why did they rally under our banner?"

Menelaus knew that his words had pierced me, worn away at my pride, and now he attacked. He knew exactly where my greatest weaknesses lay, just as I knew his. We have fought many times, brother against brother. "Will you have all the world see, Agamemnon, how an infamous prince of Troy can shame the House of Atreus, without punishment?"

He paused for a moment, and put all his scorn and disgust into his last words. "I am disgraced to call you brother, Agamemnon." Menelaus turned to leave the tent.

I felt rage overtake me. "Wait!" I said, hand in a crushing grip on his shoulder. Menelaus turned around and slapped my hand away, but I could see his grimace of pain. "You say all this, but what for, Menelaus? I have listen to you, but by the gods, now you will listen to me!"

"Very well," Menelaus said contemptuously.

"You may speak all the words of passion you like, brother, but mine will be tempered with cool reason. Why are these men here for, Menelaus? So that we might return to you a faithless wife, a wife without a single virtue? So that good men might die for the sake of bringing down one prince of Troy, whose arms your own wife fled to? I have heard tell, Menelaus, that Helen willingly left with Paris. That she considered you unworthy of her." It was my turn to insult, and I would be the victor, for I used cool, unarguable logic, whereas he always spoke with rash passion.

"Speak not these lies to me, Agamemnon."

"It is true that at first, I was caught up in anger for the insult that Paris did you and our house. Yet all logic tells me that it is foolish to take up war, a long war that will last ten years or so the oracles say, for the sake of a cause as worthless as ours. I may have been mad, Menelaus, but I will not sacrifice so many for the sake of your folly. All of Greece is mad, mad for honor and revenge, and the only thing that will come of this is death."

Menelaus drew a deep breath, ready to retort, but it was too late.

A messenger burst into the tent. "My lords Agamemnon and Menelaus, Queen Clytemnestra and her daughter Iphigenia are here. The men wonder why you have summoned them here, and crowd to see them. Is this for a marriage? A sacrifice? They bid me take them word so they might prepare a proper celebration."

"Their message must wait, then," I returned steadily, though when I looked down, I knew my shock was evident in my hands, for they trembled faintly. I clenched them into fists. "Go now."

All my sorrow came pouring out of me then, and I felt only weary of the world and his fate. "What am I to tell Clytemnestra?" I wondered in distraction. "She comes here expecting that her daughter be wed to Achilles, trusting me to give Iphigenia to a good marriage. What can I say to Iphigenia, who must be the sacrifice?"

Looking at my heartache, I suppose Menelaus' heart softened, for his anger dropped away. "Forgive me, Agamemnon, I judged you wrongly. Yet it is too late to save your daughter now that she is here."

"The whole of the Greek host will demand her sacrifice," I said, voice muffled behind his hands. "Please, Menelaus, do not let Clytemnestra know of what fate will befall Iphigenia."

"How far will your deception hold?" Menelaus wondered.

"As long as I need it to," I answered grimly. "There is no way to save Iphigenia now, but I do not want her and my wife to know of it until after the deed has been done."

"After Iphigenia is sacrificed," Menelaus said. If it were not for his intervention…but the gods have willed it so. My poor girl of the daring wit.

"Yes. Tomorrow, I will offer her not to Achilles, but to Artemis…as sacrifice." Steeling myheart against fate, I went out to greet my wife and daughter.

- o – o – o – o – o -

Author's Notes: Part three up soon, Achilles. As young as I was when I wrote this, I think it's still all right. If you want newer and completed Troy stories (with focus on romance), try "The Death of Paris." I do know that this writing's a little awkward, but as an eighth grader, I wasn't trying for Homer or anything, so keep that in mind if you're about to flame. **Please review!**


	3. Sacrifice from the Heart

**Iphigenia's Tears**

By ElveNDestiNy

June 26, 2004

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended on _The Iliad, _or _Troy_, the movie. Credit to the references used is given in Part I.

Dedication: For those that have dreamed dreams broken by false lies and deceit.

Notes: The PG-13 rating comes in here, mostly for some mature themes. You may know the true story of the Trojan War as told by Homer's _Iliad_, in that case you are probably aware of the controversy surrounding Achilles' and Patroclus' exact relationship as lovers. In any case, very slight references will be made here, so it is open for interpretation. Keep in mind that I was very young when I first wrote this. If you would like to read something exploring the Achilles/Patroclus relationship, try my short story, "Wait for Me," which takes place after Patroclus' death. Like many Greek myths, Iphigenia's story can end many ways. I have chosen the one most suitable for my retelling.

**Part III: Sacrifice from the Heart**

To each their own craft, they say, although some crafts are deemed more worthy than others. I was born with the will to fight, to find something as precious and intangible as _honor_ in shedding another man's blood. I was born to embody those noble ideals of valor and glory, although some may say neither can be found in taking lives.

It was early morning when the messenger-boy entered my tent and shook me awake. I rose from the tangle of limbs from last night's excesses, wryly noting that by harsher daylight there was little to be found of the goddess I had taken to bed. I had quarreled with Patroclus, although I soon forgotten the exact nature of what we dissented about, and she had been willing, as they all were.

"My lord, the daughter of King Agamemnon has arrived. Her name is Iphigenia, and she comes presently with the queen, her mother, Clytemnestra."

I could not recollect why I would arrange to receive Agamemnon's wench, and glanced sharply at the boy. He smiled in astonishing boyish earnestness and for a moment I was reminded of Patroclus when he was younger and naive.

"And am I to welcome them to Aulis, or serve as entertainment?" It was not meant as a harsh jibe, but from the way the smile disappeared from the boy's face, I knew he must have heard rumors of my temper.

"N-neither," he stammered. "I do not know."

Despite his attempt to blank his expression, a look flickered in his eyes. "But you know something," I pressed. "Well, boy?"

"My lord, I truly do not know. But I have heard rumors…"

"Then you _do_ know."

"I t-thought it was beneath your notice," he protested. I would have baited him further just to see if he had the makings of a man in him, but Patroclus ducked his head into the tent. I was not certain that our wrangle had been laid to rest in forgotten memory, so I concentrated on the boy. He shifted nervously from foot to foot and finally raised his head to look into my eyes, only to shy away like a nervous colt in the next instant.

The gods could only help him, if he was like this when he came of age to fight. I pushed the irrelevant thought away and decided to find out the truth of the matter.

"What rumors are about the camp? Can you tell me why we are wallowing here instead of sailing to Troy this very instant?"

His eyes grew wide. "I have only heard that you are to wife, my lord."

I thought I heard a choked sound and looked up to find Patroclus still as a marble statue, and face just as bland. If not for his reaction, I would have dismissed the whole matter, but it seemed almost as if he had heard something of the like and had waited here to see if it would be confirmed.

"And who is the so fortunate maiden?"

"Iphigenia, who has come to-day. They say that she is fair," he offered in a wavering voice. "She is Agamemnon's favorite, out of all his daughters." He looked past my shoulder, and I turned to follow his gaze.

The first thing I saw was liquid eyes, the soft color of a doe's, almost overlarge in her delicate face. The rest of her seemed no less fragile, and the warrior in me laughed incredulously that she was to match me, even as I admired her somehow absolute vulnerability. She was not particularly fair, and she was the kind of maiden so wrapt in innocence that I usually would not take a second glance. But something, some expression of those tilted eyes, called forth a desire to protect, just as one cherishes a rare treasure.

"I am Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon," she stated gravely. "I have come here under my father's orders. Do with me what you will." That last statement seemed melodramatic, and when I looked back at her face I realized that the corner of her mouth was tilted just so slight, as if self-mocking.

The only thing I could think of was that she was most definitely peculiar. "I have had no word of this supposed arrangement until mere moments ago, girl." King's daughter or not, I could not bring myself to address her otherwise. It was not rudeness, merely a sort of inability to classify her as anything else.

Shock flickered through her eyes for the instant before she dropped her gaze to the floor. I reached out to bring her chin up again, and to my surprise she twisted away, giving me a glare so filled with venom that I let my hand fall.

"Men talk much of the great Achilles," she said. "I see there is some truth in what they say."

Oh, she had wit indeed. Out of habit, I glanced over to see what Patroclus thought; he seemed no less surprised than I. "And what do they say?"

"That your face is pleasing to the eye, that you are a man half divine, that you are a warrior." One shoulder lifted in a graceful shrug, so utterly unimpressed that it completely captured my attention. "It matters not." Those dark eyes swept around the room, drinking in Patroclus' shadowed figure, and the messenger boy still watching with wide, round eyes.

Well, there was some use for him, at least. "Quickly, go fetch Agamemnon and tell him to come here directly," I told him. He seemed to balk at the idea of summoning a king, even under my orders, but I gave him a slight shove towards the bright daylight and he took off at a run.

"I will have the truth of this matter from your father," I told the girl, but I had not said more than that before and old man appeared, queen by his side. He must have been just outside my quarters, and I looked at him in some confusion.

"Who are you, and what is the meaning of this?" I demanded.

The old man did not answer for a long moment, but instead turned to the queen and her daughter, eyes shining oddly. It took me a moment to see that he had unshed tears, and a voice of scorn rose within me before I considered what I knew, and began to think of what might drive such a man to emotion.

"You know me, my lady, your father gave me to you, and I have served you since you were but a child. I have watched over you and later your children, and I feel greater loyalty to you than to your cruel, deceiving husband."

Clytemnestra's mouth opened in shock as she looked at the old man. "Why do you name him thus? Do you know why Achilles has no knowledge of any marriage plans, nor indeed had ever heard of my daughter until but a few moments ago?"

I listened as the old slave told of how Agamemnon had given him the letter to waylay the departure of the queen and Iphigenia, and how this plan had been thwarted by their early arrival.

"I believe he meant to save his daughter, but Menelaus discovered his attempt and tore the letter from my hand, confronting his brother and forcing him to carry out the prophecy. Now that Iphigenia is here, the whole of the Greek host will demand her life."

"And her betrothal to Achilles, all a ruse to bring her here, so that she would not suspect that aught was amiss, a lone girl coming into a warriors' camp," Clytemnestra said in a low voice filled with horror. "How could he? How could he have done this?"

Iphigenia stood still and quietly, her eyes reflecting only inscrutable thoughts, although what terrible grief she must be holding inside was more moving to me than if she had begun to hysterically cry in fear of death. It was her mother who began to weep, all her queenly bearing dissolving with this last blow of her husband's deception.

"He loves me," the girl said almost voicelessly. "But he loves power more. I understand."

I looked at her, and truly believed that she did. There was something powerful in her quiet dignity, faced with the pain of betrayal, when what should have been the happiest moment of her life turning into a nightmare of deceit.

I took a step towards her, not knowing what I intended to do, but the queen sank to her knees before my horrified gaze. "Achilles—" she began, and I found that I could not bear to listen to her pleas, to see the mother of such grace brought so low."

"It was my name that brought you here, and my name that Agamemnon has insulted, in using it for such a deception. Without my knowledge, he pledged me in marriage to his daughter, but I now consider her my true betrothed." Those great, dark eyes swallowed my words and gleamed with emotion, and I found that my promise was far easier than I had expected. From across the room, Patroclus eyes met my own, and I knew he could see that I was angry. "If any man dare do her injury, they will have to face me, though this man may be her own father."

Clytemnestra's gratitude fell on my deaf ears, my attention focused solely on the girl across the room. I would never have expected to here _her _voice in contradiction to my intents.

"You are but one man, Achilles, however great your valor, and no one man can stand against the full numbers of the Greek host. You say you consider me your betrothed; you are not at all what I expected. I would not have you die for my sake."

"What say you, Iphigenia?" Clytemnestra cried. "You cannot wish to die!"

"No," her daughter answered calmly, and she crossed the distance between us. I found myself looking down into an upturned face, by no means a great beauty, but suddenly more precious than much of what I had seen in the world. She reached out to me and laid a small hand on my arm, fair skin coloring rose from embarrassment by the small intimacy. "But I will die so that this man may live. I will yield my life in willing sacrifice for Greece, because it is my destiny."

For the first time, I believed that I truly would have taken her as wife, if fate had not willed it differently, and I perhaps would even have loved her. I longed to save her from her selflessness, to urge her to think of her own life and what she would be sacrificing. Before I could make any reply, we were interrupted again by the arrival of Agamemnon and the messenger boy I had sent out earlier.

"I know everything, father," Iphigenia said to him, even as he took in all the people who were present. "But I shall not hate you for it, nor tell you how much sorrow your betrayals and deceits have caused me."

"Iphigenia," Agamemnon started. "I did not mean—"

"No, you have no right to call her name!" Clytemnestra's voice rose and filled with hate, and she threw herself at Agamemnon, hand rising to strike him hard across the cheek, as fast as a snake. Agamemnon made no sound, and the only evidence of the blow was the fading redness of the skin where she had struck. He bowed his head, unable to face his sobbing wife, who clasped Iphigenia to her.

I knew that if Agamemnon were here, the time must have drawn nigh for Iphigenia's sacrifice. She knew it as well, as she looked at me over her mother's head.

"The guards no doubt will come for me soon. Mother, dear one, do not cry for me."

"Let me come with you," Clytemnestra pleaded.

"No, I do not want your last memories of me to end so. Nor do I want you to endure such an agony, for I know you do cherish me dearly." She said it as if she had been unsure, and Clytemnestra's eyes filled with fresh tears as she kissed Iphigenia's forehead.

"I will always think of you with joy and pride, my child." Iphigenia nodded, and turned to her father. I watched, torn between anger and awe as she threw herself into the embrace of her near-murderer and told him again how much she loved him.

I could not let her die so alone and forsaken, amidst so many unfamiliar men and unfriendly faces. "I will take you there, and be at your side so that my face will be the last you gaze upon. Do not refuse me, Iphigenia." Her name was a lovely caress.

"Very well, I would be glad of it. I am honored indeed, to have the greatest warrior Greece will ever know as witness to my death."

I took her outside, her hand clasped in mine, and she walked as if she knew already exactly where her path would lead her. The alter of Artemis was unadorned, and when we reached it she let me go, knowing that I could not follow her into the shadowed lands.

The high priest stood at the top of the steps, and Iphigenia floated up to him as if she did not know that she was completely surrounded by men eager for what her death would signify: a fair wind for Troy, to a land where more blood would be shed. The priest took her roughly by arm, leading her to the darkly stained stone where the blood of countless sacrifices had been spilled.

None would be as noble as this girl. I have always thought that the most glorious death was in battle, but that day I realized it was not. The crowd was silent as if it was not there, expectant, waiting. The priest murmured something into her ear and she gracefully lay upon the stone altar.

The deadly knife was ceremonially raised high, its blade blinding in the strong sunlight. But the next moment it seemed as if the sun had disappeared, swallowed up by the clouds, and the priest paused, looking to the sky. The watching men did, as well.

Knowing that I would offend the priest, I walked up the steps, intending to stand next to Iphigenia, to hold her hand as she passed into death. But the wind began to blow strongly, as if before a storm, and what had just been a clear summer's day grew dark and misty.

The knife fell before I reached her, and I was sure I saw dark eyes, startled and luminous in their pain, before the mist passed and all was revealed to the watchers.

Bright blood soaked into the stone and doe eyes gazed limpidly to the heavens in death. It was not the maiden I had known for so little time, whose bravery I had half fallen in love with, who had chose to sacrifice herself with poise and beauty. She had been spirited away, no doubt by the goddess herself, and a hind lay before us all.

Was it her voice I heard in the wind, whispering farewell in my ear?

_Farewell, Iphigenia. _

* * *

Author's Notes: I'm sorry that I totally forgot that I never put the third part up; I wrote this story almost four years ago and it's been a while since I even opened the documents. I suppose my "Troy" stories can all be classified as original, since they are a retelling of popular mythology, or as fanfiction for Homer's _Iliad_ (or in this story's case, even for Euripides), but most people these days know Achilles best as Brad Pitt, so I suppose any of these three categories applies. And the movie is the most recent, after all - I doubt Homer will be suing me any time soon over copyright issues... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, and **please review!**

- ElveNDestiNy


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